


Love Me, Dead

by Inarikasugawa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Finland is a BAMF, Hints of Denmark/Sweden Non-con, Horrible 2010 Sweden speech, M/M, Norway and Iceland aren't big here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2018-02-19 18:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2398010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inarikasugawa/pseuds/Inarikasugawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finland cares for an abused Sweden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me, Dead

He's lying there again, and he's dead. I know, because Denmark sent me in here to clean the blood off of him, to stay and make sure that his wounds close up evenly. Not because he feels bad for killing Sweden, we are countries, we do not die from wounds dealt unto ourselves, but because he wants a clean canvas to wreak havoc on the next time. So I will take the pan of warm water and the stacks of fresh white linen towels and clean the blood from his body. I will set and straighten the bones that were jarred and broken, and in the morning, when he has left, I will wash the blood out of the sheets of my bed and go about my other chores.

But for now I sit on a simple oak chair -perhaps one that Sweden made himself - and wring out the extra water from one of the remaining coarse towels before removing the blanket from the man's bare lower half and clean the mess that Denmark made there also. Not always, but I still made sure to check to clean away what seemed to have become one of Denmark's favorite ways of defiling Sweden, aside from killing him in the first place. The stickiness falls away with the water, and I have long since become uncaring to the gore. Grimacing, I remember the first time I had come to my room to see him dead. I screamed and ran into Denmark's room to ask what had happened, only to be received with a nonchalant Go clean him up, he'll wake by morning.

The smell had been so hard to tolerate at first and I had to leave the room to be sick more than once, but I had to remind myself how lucky I was that he was brought here when most of the bleeding had already been done. I was terrified that first time to even touch him, when Denmark came in and told me how best to take care of one gash or another so that it would heal with the smallest scar, or none at all.

I finished cleaning him, nearly all of him bandaged up or splinted down, and got up to sleep in either Iceland or Norway's room for the night. In the morning I would gather up the bandages that would be left behind on soiled sheets and get ready for another day.

He is lying in my bed again, but I already had the water boiling over the fire downstairs and the towels and bandages are already sitting neatly on my desk. I heard the banging and the shouting start earlier that evening. It was nearly 12 am, and I would spend it coaxing Sweden's flesh into healing cleanly.

Carrying the pot of hot water (and an empty one under my arm) I went up the stairs again to my room, passing by a satisfied looking Denmark and Norway with a look of silent pity on his face. Both had blood on their persons from hauling Sweden after his "death". The door to my room was left slightly open, as though they had thought to make my trip easier. I put the pots on the floor and dragged a chair bedside. Readying the first towel, I looked over at Sweden. He was normally a frightening looking man, but I suppose that death humbles us all. His features looked relaxed, as though he were in fact sleeping fitfully. I envied him for a moment, having such peace and quiet to himself, but I knew that the price was more than I was willing to pay. I didn't bother to wash the blood from his hair, but made certain to clean the gash nearing the base of his scull where the skin had separated. I took a suturing needle and carefully pulled it back together, tying off the thread that would dissolve over night. There was blood spatter over his face and I made sure to wipe it away and look for any other cuts. His face was bruised and over one eye was already an ugly looking bump. Still, somehow, Sweden maintained a regal look.

I leaned over him to look closer at him, and as I watched his features I thought about the few times he would corner me in the hallways and briefly kiss me. They were not totally unwanted, but always had been quite embarrassing, especially to have Denmark glaring, first at me, then more intensely at Sweden. Maybe that's why he started killing him and leaving him in my room. I leaned down and placed my lips against Sweden's, and I could feel his lips beginning to chill. It was scary, that he was dead, and for a moment I felt terribly vulnerable. I pulled away from him and continued cleaning down his neck and torso. I saw that is time the killer had been a gash across his broad chest. Scraped bone could be seen and I knew that this would leave a mark that I could not prevent. I got to cleaning and bandaging it, the need to make him sit up was still uncomfortable as his head lolled back, but I finished quickly, relieved this time to see that he still was wearing his pants, and that no further mending needed to be done. I sat back down in my chair and stroked Sweden's hair from his face and before I could help it, I fell asleep with my head on the mattress.

In the morning, Sweden was gone again and I was laid on the mattress away from the blood. I had never fallen asleep in the room while he was recovering here before, and I worried that Denmark might have found out and may become mad for it later. I took the blankets off the bed and brought them down for the wash that I would do, soaking them in a large tub of lye soap and scrubbing the stains out of the thinning material. When the rest of the wash was set to dry, I was still scrubbing the sheets, and despite my sweat, thanking the day for being so hot and dry. When a shadow came over me I startled, paling when I saw Sweden looming over me, his face again serious and very alive. A gloved hand came up and stroked my face.

"Th'nk y', Finl'nd."

I didn't want to look up, but I did, and as I did, his face came down to mine and he took from me another kiss. For a moment I worried that he knew what I had done while he had been lying in my bed, but he had been dead and so could not have known, he wouldn't even had been able to feel it. He pulled away and looked over my face again. I found it hard to maintain eye contact with him even though I knew it was his farsightedness that caused him to squint in such a menacing fashion. In time, he let go of my face and walked away to other business.

I was told by Denmark to sleep beside him. I was walking up to my room with new water and towels when he stopped me. He gave no explanation, just the threat that he would come by in the night to make sure that I was following his orders. I went into my room to finish his bandages, the cuts extending to the bottoms of his feet tonight, and when I finished, crawled into bed with him. The smell of death had ceased to affect me and I was comfortable, perhaps too much so, to lean my head against his still chest.

In the morning again he was gone; the bandages folded this time, the splints lying carefully on the desk. I took a deep breath and could catch Sweden's faint smell amid the scent of blood. I felt a strange stirring in my chest that, once identified, became an unwanted fire that engulfed as much of me as it could. I could feel myself growing hard on the smell and I bit my lip in an effort to control it, but to no effect. I gave and let my hand past the waistband of my pants to grip my hardening arousal. I didn't know who else might have been up at the time and tried to remain a quiet as possible. Turning a bit, I propped myself on my knees, my forehead pressing into the mattress and shimmied my pants down around my knees. One hand had grabbed one of the bandages, less bloodied, and I pressed it to my nose. I could smell him still on the fabric and I stroked myself harder, faster, wanting it to be over with so that I could just go about my day and forget that what I was doing now was wrong and deceitful. I felt my stomach clench and moaned into the mattress as I felt my release, kicking my pants off and stumbling to the washroom before dressing.

I threw together the bedding and the bandages, the sight of them bringing the smell of Sweden back to my nose and strong. I hastily brought them downstairs and threw them into their bath of lye. The day seemed a little cooler as I pinned up shirts and pants and underclothes and I wondered if Denmark would stop killing Sweden when the weather got too cold for such excess laundry to be done. It seemed that I was cleaning blood out of nearly everything these days.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Sweden standing at the edge of the small field of laundry lines watching me. He was still a good distance off that when I saw Denmark come up, shouting, I barely heard the shouts, as though I had cotton stuck into my ears. But I saw when Denmark struck Sweden across the face and stomped off.

That evening I thought perhaps that Denmark had read my thoughts about the weather, because there was no late night visit from him telling me anything about Sweden, nor was the man dead and in my bed again. It was nearly 11 and Sweden was sitting in the kitchen, drinking a cup of tea, Norway was ushering Iceland to bed and Denmark had locked himself in his room for the night, his snores could be heard nearly anywhere in the house right now. I got to my room and was opening the door when another hand stopped me from doing so.

"D'n't make a s'nd, 'kay?"

I was terrified. I didn't know what Sweden was planning but he was much scarier when he was alive. I felt warm, living lips press against the back of my neck and saw his hand turn the handle to the door of my room, his other hand placed on my hip and nudging me forward. I didn't look back but heard the door shut behind us. It was still and quiet. Softly, he wrapped his arms around me and pressed me against him. He didn't do anything else, and gradually, I relaxed into his hold.

"Th'nk y'."

The hand's moved to my nightshirt and then they were underneath. His normally gloved hands had a chill to them as they pushed my shirt up, softly touching my stomach and chest as he lifted it over my head. At first it was fright that had me obeying his motions, but as he laid kiss after kiss on my neck and shoulders, I knew what he wanted, and was more and more willing to give him this bit of comfort after the abuse that he had been going through. So I pulled him towards my bed and sat down on it, motioning for him to come and join me. He took off his glasses and put them down on the bed away from us and climbed over me, squinting his eyes to try and see. He still looked scary, but at least I was able to know why he did it, so I was able to push away some of the unease.

Taking his face in my hands in an imitation of his action from a few days before, I kissed him. He was eager to deepen the kiss and I surrendered to that as well, thinking of how much he had been hurting as Denmark repeatedly tortured him to death. He pushed me back into the pillows and I began to unbutton his nightshirt which he helpfully shrugged to the floor. I threw a leg over his hips and tugged down his pants, the fabric bunching at his knees. He stopped kissing me suddenly, and even in the dim light I could see his face flush; had his eyes been better, he would have seen me blushing too. I pulled my own pants off and tossed them to the floor where Sweden had let his own fall. I kissed him again softly before taking up one of his hands and bringing his fingers to my mouth, sucking on them and coating them in my saliva before leading his hand down to my entrance, lifting my hips for ease.

He pressed first one finger in. It was tight and and an uncomfortable feel, but he moved slowly and soon he had a second finger pressing in, both of them going deeper when I felt him brush something. My toes curled and I couldn't hold back a groan as I pressed back into the mattress, moving against his fingers. He did it again, rubbing my nerves raw so that I wanted to scream. I wasn't aware of the third finger but busily groped about the drawers of my desk blindly for the ointment that I had used. It would have to do as a makeshift lubricant as we had nothing else, and Sweden accepted it, leaving me to squirm with the sudden empty feeling as he readied himself.

"Finl'nd."

He kissed me as he pressed himself in. I had to concentrate on relaxing, on keeping loose because Oh Gods he's huge! I bit into his bottom lip before crying out weakly from the pain. He stroked my hair gently and crooned lovingly into my ear as he tried to calm me, nearly completely sheathed within me. When he finally had, he waited for me to give him a go ahead, let me adjust to his girth, much more than a few fingers had prepared me for. I drew back and gave a shaky thrust onto him and that was all the cue he needed. He lifted my legs around his hips and lifted me further, holding me steady as he drew out half way before thrusting back in, slowly but with an increasing tempo before he was nearly pulling out all the way, the sound of flesh smacking against flesh ringing out through the room amid our gasps and moans.

A hand reached up and grasped me, the feeling of him touching me so intimately bringing me closer to my limit even without him doing anymore, but he did, his hand gliding up and down my length carefully in time with his thrusts. His lips covered mine as I clenched around him just before releasing my seed into his hand and over my stomach. I griped his hair in my hands and tried to deepen the kiss, soon feeling him cum inside me, the hot liquid filling me and seeping out when he withdrew from me, collapsing on the bed beside where I now laid. His arms were around me again and drew me against him. I could hear his heart beat this time. His smell filled my nose as I snuggled against him, throwing an arm over him and kissing his chest lightly.

We didn't say anything about anything else; not about Denmark's abuse or of me cleaning him up from death in that bed. He held on to me though like a life line, and in this way I fell asleep in his arms, dreaming of a chance to escape, to run away with him to a better place.


End file.
